Fun With Aprons
by Anya Urameshi
Summary: A series of oneshots involving a pairing and the lovely piece of clothing called "the apron". 1st: CanadaSwitzerland. 2nd: PolandLithuania. 3rd: AmericaEngland. 4th: SpainRomano. 5th: GermanyItaly. 6th: DenmarkNorway. 7th: BelgiumLiechtenstein.
1. Yellow With Ruffles

Matthew was pretty sure he shouldn't be _this_ turned on by a man in an apron.

He was leaning against the doorway, Kumajirou for once absent from his arms, watching the way his boyfriend pattered about the kitchen. Vash didn't seem to have noticed his presence, which surprised the taller nation slightly given the other's mercenary background.

Wondering if maybe his power of invisibility was showing again, Matthew lifted his hands to inspect them, but they were still completely tangeable. Having nothing else to do with his arms (he was so used to carrying around his pet), Matthew crossed them across his chest and went back to watching Vash work.

When his boyfriend had offered, quite forcibly, to cook dinner for the two of them, Matthew had been reasonably concerned. After all, his only experiences with home cooking involved Arthur and his brother, Alfred (Francis didn't cook and was therefore exempt), both of whom had no sense of taste or cooking skills whatsoever. The blond couldn't count the number of times he'd aquired food-poisoning during his childhood and had no desire to repeat the experience any time soon.

He'd just been about to offer to let Vash cook some other time (a long, long time in the future), and had even worked up the nerve to do it, when he'd seen the apron.

It wasn't overly girly, yellow with ruffles around the edges, and it didn't have any funny or innuendo-ish phrases on the front (Matthew smiled faintly as he recalled Alfred's reaction to Arthur's old "Kiss the Cook" apron). Infact, the garmet was rather palin compared to any that the blond had seen beforehand (an image of Feliks answering the door in nothing but his pink and lacy apron while Toris spazzed out in the background rose unbidden to his mind and Matthew had the sudden urge to bash himself over the head with something blunt and preferably heavy) and for a moment he wondered why the whole thing was having any sort of affect on him at all.

It was just Vash.

In an apron.

_Ah hell._

It only took five steps for Matthew to cross the room and pull his extremely surprised boyfriend into a very passionate kiss.

They never actually got around to eating dinner that night, but Vash didn't seem to mind, so Matthew didn't really either.


	2. Pink Silk and White Lace

Toris's first question upon entering the living room to find his….er, housemate sitting on th couch in a rather (the nation gave a slight shudder at the thought) seductive way was, "What are you wearing?"

The more appropriate question would've been, "What are you not wearing?" seeing as how the only thing Feliks was wearing was a hundred percent pink silk and white lace thing that Toris supposed was trying to pass itself off as an apron and a smile.

A smile that became decidedly more pronounced as the other nation caught sight of him in the doorway.

"Oh," Feliks practically purred, causing an odd shiver (of fear, it had to be fear because Toris sure as hell wasn't-) to roll down the other's spine as he stretched himself leisurly (causing the "apron" to rise in a dangerous way) before getting to his feet and sauntering casually over to his "housemate". "You're finally home."

Toris stood frozen, entranced by the way the apron swished across the blond's hips as he sashayed forward, a fact which the other nation was using to his advantage if the way Feliks had wrapped his arms around the brunette's neck (pressing their bodies pretty closely together the other noted faintly) and begun playing with the hair at the nape of it was any indication.

"So, like, a few days ago, I was browsing about on this totally awesome sight called Ebay, when I saw the most adorable thing and just had to order it," the blond pressed himself closer (if that was even possible) and smiled up at Toris rom under his lashes. "It just came in today…you like?"

Toris gulped, scrambling frantically for a reply as he tried very hard not to think about the fact that Feliks was pressed up against him in practically nothing even as his mind was ignored by the rest of his body (which was definitely liking the idea).

And then the doorbell rang.

Toris almost cried with relief as Feliks frowned and stepped back, but then he realized that the blond was storming over to the door with a dark frown on his face and almost had a mild panic attack as he realized what the man was about to do.

"Wait! Feliks! Don't-!" he yelped, eyes bugging slightly as the other nation threw open the door (still wearing nothing but that damned apron) to reveal Matthew, who was giving Feliks a slightly terrified look as he took in the other blond's attire.

"Um, I, uh…." the poor nation stammered, obviously flustered.

"We're not home," Feliks informed him shortly before slamming the door in his face and storming back over to Toris, smile returning as he caught the brunette about the back of his had and pulled him down into a kiss.

"Now," he breathed, giving the other a sultry look. "Where were we?"


	3. Kiss the Cook

In Alfred's mind, Arthur was practically asking for it.

The American had decided to visit his riend one day and somehow his brother, Matthew, ended up tagging along (he figured there was some ulterior motive in the other's actions, but couldn't be bothered to actually care what that might be). The two had shown up on Arthur's doorstep in time for lunch and had been let in by a rather disgruntled looking man wearing a skirt ("It's a kilt," the man grunted when Alfred said as much) who led them to the living room, where he promptly crashed on the couch leaving the two brothers to search for Arthur on their own.

They found him in the kitchen.

The older nation didn't seem to have noticed their presence yet (despite Alfred's earlier confrontation with the doorbell that had led the mysterious kilt-man to answer the door in the first place) and it didn't take much to figure out why.

"So he does use the Ipod I got him for Christmas last year!" Alfred mused, happily noting the hite cord trailing from the other nation's ears down into his pocket as he watched the man dance about the kitchen.

"He's…..he's wearing jeans…!" Matthew stated in an awed tone as both siblings took in the state of dress of their former benefactor.

"And an apron," his brother added, grinning madly.

Arthur was, indeed, weaing both of these articles but this wasn't the biggest issue in Alfred's mind. Neither was the song that he'd just realized the other nation was singing in a quite loud, but still pleasant tone of voice ("How come every time you come around, my London, London bridge be falling down? My London, London, London….my London, London, London!"). No, the most pressing matter for the American was the interesting little command he'd just noticed on the front of his dear friend's chest.

Exchanging a glance with his brother, the blond knew the other had seen it too.

"Don't even think about it!" Matthew whispered frantically, clutching his bear tightly in his arms and giving his brother a glare, but it was already too late. Alfred had already snuck forward up to the older man's side, devious smirk in place as he reached out to grab him about the waist.

Letting out a startled noise, Arthur turned to see who was behind him and Alfred used his momentary confusion to swoop in and plant a kiss on the startled blond's lips. He then darted back out of the other man's range, still grinning like the cat that had gotten the canary, leaving Arthur to stand in the middle of the kitchen with a dazed look on his face.

Which quickly changed to pure, seething rage as he yanked his earbuds from his ears and began yelling obscenities at Alfred, who just laughed and told him that the temptation had been too much to resist.

"After all," he pointd out. "Your apron told me to do it."

All three nations glanced down at the garmet currently adorning Arthur's front half where the words "Kiss the Cook" could be clearly read in bold type-write.

"Th-that's…!" the man stammered, face going a deep shade of red. "That's not to be taken literally, you git!"

"Oh, but Artie!"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT, YOU WANKER!"

Off to the sid where he'd been left forgotten yet again, Matthew heaved a sigh and wished the two of them would just stop dancing around each other already. It was getting rather painful to watch sometimes (and others it was a source of great sadistic pleasure).


	4. Tomato Print

The sight which greeted Antonio as he entered his kitchen after an evening of meetings was a truly terrifying one.

"Lo-lovino?" the man stammered, staring at his former charge with wide eyes. "Are you…..cooking?"

The nation in question leveled him with a deadpan stare. "No, you dope. I'm trying to set the house on fire with a metal pan. What does it _look _like I'm doing?"

Deciding not to mention the time the Italian _had _almost burned down the villa, Antonio moved closer to the younger man with a wide grin.

"What are you making then?" he asked instead, leaning forward to peer over Lovino's shoulder and delighting in the way the redhead's ear tips darkened at the proximity.

"G-get back, you bastard!" Lovino ordered, backing away himself and holding up the stirring spoon like it was a weapon (Antonio had no doubt that the other wouldn't hesistate to use it as one if provoked and was internally thrilled that the knife drawer was on the _other_ side of the kitchen). _"_And it's spaghetti," he replied, cheeks a brilliant shade of red that made Antonio want to pinch them. "Because even I can't screw that up," he added in a quiet mutter that Antonio pretended not to hear because he knew he wasn't supposed to.

"Mmm," he said instead, making a show of smacking his lips together appreciatively. "Sounds delicious."

Lovino's countenance brightened slightly and Antonio resisted the urge to scoop the Italian up into a hug for it because he knew that would just get him a black eye and fuming redhead (two things that the Spaniard didn't wish to deal with if he could help it).

"Go get the sauce ready," Lovino ordered gruffly, turning away in a failed attempt to hide the pleased smile that Antonio could see forming on his face.

"_Si, mi tomatito_!" the older nation agreed cheerfully, moving to pull an apron out of the drawer so that he wouldn't get anything on his dress clothes before heading off to search for the needed items.

He was back at the counter, steadily slicing ingredients and scooping them into a mixing bowl, when he felt Lovino's eyes on him. Glancing at the redhead from the corner of his eye (because he didn't want to alert the other nation to the fact that he'd been found out), Antonio saw the Italian leaning against the counter by the stove. The man had a peculiar expression on his face and appeared to be fighting with himself over something (if the way his knuckles were whitening with the force of his grip on the counter were any indication).

Resisiting the urge to ask what was wrong (because he already knew he wouldn't get a straight answer anyways), the Spaniard refocused his attention on the salsa and tried to ignore the prickly feeling on the back of his head.

"Ah, Lovi," he said a moment later, lifting the bowl of finished sauce and turning to face the other nation with a bright smile. "The sauce is d-"

He was cut off abruptly as Lovino wrapped his arms around the brunette's neck, pulling him down into a kiss (and almost causing the man to drop his bowl out of pure shock).

"Hmm…" the redhead hummed against his lips, pulling back to give him a contemplative look. "That was…."

The two stood in silence as the Italian's sentence trailed off unfinished and stared at each other for a few moments before Lovino seemed to finally register what he'd just done. Face flushing a brilliant red, the man let out a distressed "chigii!" before turning and fleeing the house leaving Antonio to stare after him with a bemused expression.

As it was, it was a few moments before the Spaniard could bring himself to move, setting the bowl on the table and leaning back against the conter to finger his lips with a small grin.

"That was…nice," he murmured, unintentionally finishing Lovino's earlier statement.


	5. Plain and Simple Green

It wasn't an uncommon sight in the Vargas household to see one or both of the brothers wandering about their daily life in a state of undress. Those few people and nations who hung around the twins on a regular basis had long ago become used to this odd habit and chose to just let it go.

All except for Ludwig.

"I-italy," the German man muttered, staring resolutely at a spot over the redhaired man's shoulder. "Please go put some clothes on."

"Okay, Germany!" Feliciano chirped, happily running back into the house, leaving Ludwig to close the door he'd left standing wide open with a sigh, sliding the deadbolt into place before heading off to the living room to take a seat on the couch.

In a distant corner of the house, the blond could hear Feliciano crashing about (hopefully in the pursuit of decent clothing) and allowed a small, fond smile to cross his face.

A smile that was promptly wiped away a moment later when the Italian came careening back into the room wearing an apron (and nothing else, much to the German's chagrin).

(At least he's covered,) Ludwig thought, pinching the bridge of his nose as Feliciano began tugging on his arm, babbling something about soccer and frolicking in the flowers that probably made complete sense to him but was completely lost on the blond. "When I said clothes, I was hoping for something that would cover your ass as well. Like pants. Or, hell, even a skirt."

The redhead paused, staring at him silently (Ludwig wondered faintly if maybe he'd hurt the other nation's feelings) before breaking into a wide grin and leaning in to kiss the German happily.

"Okay, Germany!" he called back over his shoulder as he ran out of the room. "I'll be right back!"

Unfortunately, Ludwig's brain was too fried to come up with any sort of intelligible response, leaving the blond to stare at the spot where the Italian had just been standing while stammering half-completed thoughts to himself as it tried to gain some semblance of order.

And this curious affliction that had overcome the German would only get worse when his friend returned a few moments later wearing a green dress and begging the blond to "play with him".


	6. Blue with White Stripes

"Hey, Norge, why aren't we married?"

A loud ripping sound echoed throughout the room as the book in Erik's hands was torn clean in half causing the man beside him to fly into a sort of panic as he moved to grab the destroyed novel from his grasp.

"Dammit, Norge," Vaun exclaimed, attempting to stick the ripped pieces back together by force of will. "Seeri's going to roast my ass! This was one of her favorite books!"

"Why aren't we married?" Erik repeated numbly, staring unseeingly at the air in front of him. "Why aren't we _married_?!"

"Uh, yeah," the other nation stated, finally giving up on the book as he tossed it onto the in table. "It's something I've been wondering for awhile now. I mean, we've known each other for so long-"

"Too long," the smaller blonde muttered.

"-and you're my best friend," Vaun plowed on, completely disregarding the other's words (as usual). "It just seems like a natural outcome of our friendship."

"You," Erik replied, "are a retard." Maneuvering himself to his feet, he pushed past the Dane and headed for the kitchen. "We're hardly friends and even if we were, we sure as hell aren't lovers."

"So? Berwald and Tino aren't lovers, and they're married," Vaun pointed out as he followed after the other man.

"Yes they are," he corrected. "But that's beside the point."

"They _are_?" Vaun exclaimed. "Seriously? I totally called it!"

"The _point_," Erik stated loudly, leveling a glare at the blond as he pulled a blue apron out of one of the drawers. "Is that we are not getting married. Now get the hell out of my house."

"But, it's my house too," the taller nation pointed out, hopping up onto the kitchen counter as his friend began banging around in the cabinets searching for ingredients (or maybe a murder weapon). "Which is _my_ point. We live together, we eat together, hell we even slept together that one-" He cut off suddenly as a salt-shaker was hurled at his head.

"I thought I told you to _never bring that up again_," Erik growled.

"Aw, but _Norge_!"

"Don't you "but Norge" me! And get off the counter, I'm trying to fix dinner."

"Alright, alright," Vaun laughed, jumping down. "Such a pushy wife." A box of macaroni beamed him in the head. "Ow! What the hell, Norge?"

"You should be used to it, since we're _such_ great friends," Erik muttered, yanking a pan off the hook and slamming it down onto the stove top. "And I'm not your wife."

"See?" the other blond exclaimed happily. "We know each other so well! We should totally get married!"

"No. Only people who love each other get married unless they're being forced by other means."

"I love you."

Erik froze. "You don't mean that."

"Yes," Vaun replied. "I do."

"_No_," the other nation turned to level him with a sharp glare. "You don't."

"_Yes_," taking a few steps forward, Vaun reached out and pulled Erik into his arms. "I _do_."

And then he leaned down and kissed him. Erik immediately pulled away, opening his mouth to ask the man just what he thought he was doing, but found himself being silenced by another, more thorough, kiss from the Dane. After a few moments, the smaller nation finally gave up, deciding that if he was going to be made-out with against his will, he may as well enjoy it.

With that thought in mind, he wrapped his arms around the man's neck and yanked him down so that he wasn't having to crane his own so badly and almost bit down on the other nation's tongue as he felt himself being bodily lifted from the floor and placed up on the counter.

"Better?" Vaun murmured, trailing his way down the Norwegian's neck.

"Yeah, thanks," Erik replied, tilting his head to give the other better access. His eyes snapped open suddenly as he realized what he was doing and proceeded to shove the other man away with enough force to knock him into the opposite counter. "I mean, wait! What the hell are you doing?"

"If I have to explain that to you, then this relationship is in more trouble than I thought."

He ducked as the Norwegian hurled a cup at his head and ran out of the room laughing.

"We don't have a relationship!" Erik yelled, sliding off the counter.

"Course we do," Vaun replied, peaking back through the doorway with a grin. "And you will totally be an awesome wife, Norge!"

The toaster managed to connect with the Dane's chest and he let out an "Oof!" of surprise, catching the object before it hit the ground. "I love you too, Norge," he groaned, setting the appliance back on the counter before making his getaway.

"Go jump off a cliff!" Erik yelled, turning a furious shade of red as he grabbed up a rolling pin and started to give chase before realizing that the pot was boiling over. "Dammit!"

And as the sound of Vaun's laughter floated to him from another part of the house, the Norwegian scowled, cursing the Dane and how that idiot always made him feel like….

…like he wished he hadn't pushed the other man away again.

"Maybe we should just get married. At least then I can claim alimony when we get divorced."


	7. Pink and Blue Polkadots

Maybe it was all just a dream.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lily took a deep breath before cracking one eye back open to take in the scene before her, but no, no mater how she looked at it Adela was still standing in the kitchen. Still doing the dishes in a pretty pink and blue apron. Still completely oblivious to the situation going on around her.

Worriedly, Lily's eyes darted off to the side where her brother was attempting to strangle Gilbert (who had showed up unannounced earlier that day) with his bare hands while Matthew tried to stop him (in her brother's defense, the grey-haired man's comment about the Canadian's vital regions _had _been highly inappropriate (especially when the blond in question _had been sitting right there)_ before moving back to the older woman (who was humming to herself happily).

"M-miss Belgium," Lily began.

"Adela," the woman corrected gently, throwing a bright grin over her shoulder. "And yes?"

"Um….you….you don't have to…"the younger nation quivered slightly under Adela's gaze. "You're a guest! Let me do the dishes please!"

"Oh!" the blond shook her head forcefully. "No, no, no, no! It's my pleasure. Don't worry about it!"

"But-"

"If you really wanna help, go call Liza and tell her that Gilbert is being an idiot again."

"Um…um…"

Adela smiled softly, turning so that she was facing the other nation more fully. "Seriously, Lily-dear. Don't worry about it. I wouldn't have volunteered if I didn't want to."

"O-okay…." Lily sighed, realizing that she wasn't going to win this argument, and stepped forward to stand beside the other blond. "At least let me help?"

"Why sure!" Adela agreed, giving the other a sunny grin as she pulled off the apron and slipped it over the shorter nation's head. "Here you go! Wouldn't want you to get that pretty dress of yours wet, now would we?"

Lily started to protest, attempting to reach back and untie the apron strings, but Adela caught her hands in a gentle yet firm grip, leaning down to touch her forehead to the other nation's.

"It looks cuter on you anyways," the woman stated, pecking the girl quickly on the forehead before turning back to the sink as if nothing had happened, But something had, Lily noted, turning to begin drying and putting away the dishes on the counter with a puzzled but happy expression.


End file.
